


Only There to Fight Against

by nicemug



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, I challenge my fate, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Slow Burn, Spoilers past chapter 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-10-12 08:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20561687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicemug/pseuds/nicemug
Summary: Byleth is gifted with an incredible ability, turning back time at her will. She's content to limit it to battle until the terrible fate of a bandit triggers her empathy. From there, she seeks ways to challenge fate as much as she can, unsatisfied with leaving things to be as they "should". All the while, she does her best to hide away a wanted man whose bitterness to the world consumes him.This is a slightly divergent AU in which Byleth is more experimental with and willing to use the divine pulse. It's also about Miklan trying to adjust to a new life. It'll eventually be Miklan/Byleth, but I don't know when. The basic structure of the Blue Lions storyline will be intact.





	1. Fate Defied and a Beast Brought Back

**Author's Note:**

> CW: mild blood, mild body horror. If you could handle the transformation scene, you'll probably be OK here. If you want to avoid it, CTRL+F to "on their way back". I'll put any applicable CWs in the notes just like this. 
> 
> I haven't written anything in a gazillion years. Even if this isn't a hit, I'm at least putting it to paper, right? :) I hope you enjoy!

"It is a sad state of things, isn't it?" asked the tiny voice in her head. Before them a pool of blood grew slowly from Miklan's prone body. Even in death, he grasped the lance, or rather, it still commanded his grasp. She thought in agreement, but felt revulsion at the hopeless tone Sothis took. "Not 'hopeless'," Sothis corrected. "Accepting. There are unpleasant things that must occur for the present to commence." Must? Why? What was fate to someone who could manipulate time as the two of them did?

There was the sound of glass shattering and a purple hue to the world around her. Another criticism rang out - an offended "what are you _doing?_" - as the world rapidly ticked back and they watched as the scene reversed. First was Gilbert, sprinting backwards. Dad would find this funny, she thought, briefly wondering why she didn't. Then Dedue with the fatal blow, Annette from afar took back the slice of wind she'd sent, Felix, Sylvain, herself, and Dimitri... Actions blurred together into rounds until she was back to Miklan leaning against the Lance of Ruin. She shook free her sword and sent it colliding into the lance, but the impact made no sound and her sword brought itself back together. Why? Her question was pointed to her other half. "I told you, some things must occur. This bandit must transform, and that beast must die." Ah. That's all. Surroundings returned to normal and sounds began again. From his horse, Sylvain held his spear's point to his brother's throat, and Miklan gripped the ruinous lance to keep from collapsing. This time her look was critical, focused, as she looked for opportunity.

Darkness from the lance spilled forth and twisted up his arm. Glass shattered. Purple vision. She struck again at the lance, but it had already started to merge with his arm. Time marched on. Now he was half beast, screaming in agony and terror. Once more, she reflexively stepped back, but not from preparedness; fear, maybe? Is that what this is? Pity, too, as she'd heard it described. "It is frightening! And pitiable. "_Especially_ if you are intent on repeat viewings." Glass shattered. A pattern emerged, with Byleth turning back long enough to try new approaches. Again she was scolded, and she wondered when Sothis would learn that scolding had never worked on her. "What more can I do?" came the reply, weary from Byleth's attempts to change fate. Assist me, she thought. What humanity do we have to let someone suffer like this? As a _lesson_? "Humanity..." rang the reply, thoughtful and tired. "Very well."

Time resumed after however many cycles. The battle was fought again, though this time Byleth was sloppy. She would be reprimanded if her father could see this; luckily, he was busy miles away. Sequence changed, it was her this time who fell the beast. It collapsed to the floor, masonry shaking, and slowly the flesh peeled from Miklan's body and receded in inky trails back to the lance. "Now," the voice commanded. Glass shattered. The lance was still dug into Miklan's arm. The beast-flesh still pulsed, and his fingers seemed as though they had become part of the shaft. Now, she questioned? "Your window of chance is swiftly drawing to a close." She accepted the cooperation despite now navigating blindly. She thought for only a second and walked forward, then brought down her sword like a cleaver. The end scraped against the stone floor and his bones crunched. He fell forward to the ground as his arm fell, still entwined with the lance, at their sides. More blood this time. She looked back. Sylvain was nearby, at once trying to seem disaffected but still keeping his eyes from the sight. Only Dedue and Dimitri acknowledged her previous act, looking at the limb on the ground rather than the body.

"I wanted to make sure," she said simply, then turned back and crouched. "Mercedes."

Mercedes, still calming herself, slowly made her way to Byleth's side. "Yes, Professor?" Reluctant to enter the blood, she stepped carefully.

"Heal this stump for me." Byleth picked up the elbow.

"Oh, that's..." Mercedes walked closer, then leaned forward as she trailed off. "That won't do anything, you know? When someone is dead, you have to do everything... Manually."

"Humor me," she replied.

Mercedes did as asked, and her words of prayer carried to Miklan's body. It was suffused in that tender glow. Byleth snapped forward to catch the severed arm, which trembled as though it meant to rejoin him. The flesh healed and the wound knit together. The glow left him.

"Thanks," Byleth said. "No take-homes next week for you."

Mercedes giggled in reply, lightly tapping Byleth's shoulder as she rose, and as she retreated came Gilbert around the bend.

* * *

  
On their way back to the monastery, she'd felt the stirring of breath from Miklan's body. Sothis suggested that it would be a _shame_ if he were to fully rouse during travel, as the defiance of fate would all be for nothing. Byleth disagreed: even if he were to meet his end now, at least it would be as a man and not a thing. The party dispersed as they made entrance. "I'll take care of him," she said simply, and off she disappeared. Back to her room, she laid him on her bed and sat down in her chair. I didn't have a plan this far, she thought. I didn't have a plan past the arm. I'll have to think of something. "Only now do you take this into regard?" Sothis chided, veritably tsk-tsking her as she said it. Staring blankly for a few moments, she turned to an ungraded stack and began to work on it. Eventually she found herself drifting off, and her head dipped down onto the desk...

She was awakened by a loud scream. The chair fell back as she sprang up and took her sword in hand, assessing possible threat. On the floor, she saw the source of the cries - Miklan, wildly panicked, clawing at what remained of his arm and trying in vain to rip things from himself that weren't there. His eyes scanned the room, wide and wild, looking to her and then dropping to the ground. The screams stopped, followed by a hoarse groan and labored breathing. He kept himself from collapsing with his hand; the off arm now twitching as though it were trying to hold his head. At this moment, he looked helpless and small. She opened her mouth to say something at the same time that a knock came to her door. The handle twisted and another knock came: insistent and loud.

"Professor?" asked the voice. "Are you alright?"

Of course, it was her only neighbor. She was lucky to have Dedue next door: he was vigilant, quiet, and thoughtful. Ordinarily a boon, she briefly wished it were Hilda or Sylvain there instead. She crouched beside Miklan and turned her head to the door.

"I'm fine. One moment." Catching Miklan's eye, she raised a finger to her lips and helped him to stand. She shuffled him to the leftmost corner, the only place in her room that was blocked from the door. He slid against the wall until he sat on the floor again, breathing deeply. She whispered, "Hold on. Stay quiet."

Securing the sword back at her hip she walked back to the door, then unlatched and opened it carefully. Dedue was there, as expected, holding a sword of his own. He wore simple clothes and it struck her how odd it was to see him exist out of a uniform. Students modified theirs or skirted the rules all the time, but Dedue always stuck to the suggested presentation, putting even the noblest of nobles to shame.

"Sorry," she said. "Nightmare. Today was something else." Not the truth, but not a lie. Her head raised up to make eye contact; she always forgot how tall he was. What kind of students are this giant?

"Thank you," he replied. "I did not want to break your door."

They looked at each other for a few moments. Silence. Dedue lowered his sword.

"Did you want to talk about it?" He asked.

"Do you?" She replied, lightly swatting her ear as Sothis proclaimed that they were possibly _the_ most _boring_ pair to listen in on.

He shook his head. "No. Not for my sake. It was a surprise, but not the worst thing I have seen." She noted to herself - talk to him about that later.

"I'm fine," she said again, shaking her head. "I'm alright when I'm awake."

"If you need anything, my door is open at all times," he said, then hesitated for a moment. "As long as you aren't afraid of being seen... It's not a bother."

"Thank you," she said. She smiled; a small smile, but for most of her life she hadn't needed anything more. Dedue smiled in return, his just as small, as though he wasn't used to the practice either. It was a rare moment for either of them.

"Sleep well," he said. He bowed his head and made his way back to his room, waiting until she closed her door for him to close his own.

At her return, she latched the door. As she approached the corner, Miklan pulled himself to his feet and advanced toward her.

"What _is_ this?" He said, barely below a yell. "What is this, where is this, who the hell are you?!"

"Keep quiet," she replied. "I don't know what happens if you're found."

"Found?" His voice was barely contained, and he grabbed her arm with his only hand. "Found where?"

Unconcerned, she looked down to where his hand was grasped. "Keep it down. I can't explain everything away." Her voice was cool, almost monotone. He found it unsettling.

"You better explain them to me," he said. "Now."

"This is my room, in Garreg Mach monastery. My name is Byleth," she said. Her eyes moved on from her arm to his face.

"That's not explaining. That's barely anything," he said, voice rising. "What the hell is going on?"

"Quiet," she replied. "You'll probably get executed if you keep yelling."

He pulled away. The last thing he remembered was being consumed by the Lance of Ruin - his goddess-forsaken ancestral weapon, the one meant for him. His hand twitched as he played things back in his mind. All over it felt like those fingers were still burrowing into him, ripping his flesh open, stretching his bones...

"Hey. It's okay," she said. Their eyes made contact again. Her face was still blank, and he didn't know whether that made her words more or less trustworthy.

"Executed..." He said. "The Knights of Seiros? You're a knight?"

Thinking further back, he remembered seeing the senior knight ambushed by his mages. But the force that approached him was a bunch of snot-nosed brats, including his brother and the Kingdom prince. And this woman, strangely dressed, who had looked at him like a puzzle the entire time.

"I'm just a teacher," she said. "I'm leading a class for the officer's academy. We were sent to dispatch your group."

"So, you're..." He trailed off, trying to piece things together. She waited. "You're hiding me out?"

"I guess," she replied. "Everyone thinks you're dead right now. Rhea will call on me in the morning, and I can gauge what she'd say. I don't have a plan."

"How did I not die?" he asked. He had felt the life draining from his body as the beastly mass retreated. "How do you not have a plan?"

"I used..." She thought for a few moments, her hand under her chin. "I used an ability I have. Your arm was a casualty. I tried to avoid it. At first, I thought I could intercept you before the lance took hold. I couldn't. So I tried until I succeeded."

Leaning back, he lightly rested against the edge of the bed. He tried to rest his head in his hand, switching to the other side at the absence of the hand he expected. At least she was talking, he thought.

"You're working off of nothing because your plan didn't go how you thought. To, what, keep that thing from killing me?"

"Yes," she said, after a nod he didn't see.

"And you're keeping me in your room... Because you tricked your brats and that grandpa into thinking I'm dead? Why bother?"

"I don't know," she said. A slight frown. Her eyes went to the floor and Miklan's raised up to look at her. "I didn't think it was fair. It wasn't good or just to have you die like that."

"No, I meant..." His correction trailed off. He wasn't going to ask that and risk her doubting the choice. But those words - fair, good, just - had only been used on him for punishments he deserved. There was no disagreement, really. He didn't give mercy and he didn't expect it in return. "Why am I a secret?"

"Fate. Something like that. If I wanted to keep you alive, I needed you to transform and to die. I don't know why. We... I don't know everything about this ability. I just have to try and see what follows."

Miklan looked down to his arm, feeling the grooves he'd dug in earlier, lightly flexing as though it might bring the missing part back.

"I can't heal," she said. "I'm sorry."

"They'll just be scars," he said with a sigh. He pointed briefly to the deep scar on his face. His remaining hand felt behind him and he pulled up to sit fully on the edge. "The plan is to wait in this room until you talk to the archbishop and then... What?"

"Hopefully she'll be open to the idea of clemency. If she doesn't, I need a plan. If I brought you here, your safety is my responsibility."

"My safety." He laughed as he said it, the tone bitter and rough. "You know the kind of bandit I am?"

"Yes," she replied. "At this moment, you're still vulnerable. If not the chance for redemption, you at least deserve a trial. Her executions are too hasty. Too dogmatic."

"Where the hell are you from?" he laughed again, this time amused, or maybe incredulous. Some woman was standing before him with all the personality of a paper bag, fully invested in a system of law that was only theory.

"Everywhere," she said. "If you want to turn yourself in, I won't object."

"No, no," he interrupted. "I'm going to stay alive for as long as I can."

"Good." She nodded, then walked away to right her chair. She began to straighten the papers in disarray and grab the few that had fallen to the ground. "Get some sleep."

He looked from her to the bed, and then back to her. Byleth sat and returned to reading through the papers. Confused, he asked. "You're staying up?"

"I fall asleep after enough of these. Then I stay asleep. Don't worry."

Miklan laid back onto her bed. It felt strange, too soft, and he was accustomed to sleeping bags or patches of grass by now. He kept trying to join his hands, growing frustrated at every failure and remembrance. Byleth extinguished one of the lamps and left only the one near her desk, occasionally grabbing a reed pen and scratching something onto the current leaf. He tossed and turned, trying to find some comfortable position; some position that would let him feel like his arm was still there. His head was still awash with thoughts of confusion, rage, terror, and apprehension. But eventually, the exhaustion of the day took its toll, and he fell into slumber.


	2. Hiding the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Miklan discuss plans; Rhea offers her judgment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings! A very dialogue-heavy chapter. Thank you guys for the encouragement! :)

Miklan slept in fits. He knew that he'd been screaming again at least once, waking to the sight of Byleth once more standing with her sword brandished. After she had put it back at her side, she walked over to gently pat his head. He swatted her hand away, glowering. Another time he woke to his face wet, his hair sticking to the sides of his face, his eyes still watering. When he looked over to Byleth, her face was planted on the stack of papers, hand still holding her pen. He drifted back to sleep. 

Sunlight was streaming through the window of her room. At least he'd managed some amount of uncursed sleep. He sat up, groggy, rubbing his face with the hand he had left. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was angered. Did she really have to take his arm? Yet another thing stripped from him. She saved his life but still /took/ something from him, and like last time, he would be forced to adapt. At least that was one thing he could depend on - he would always find a way to adapt; he was always there for himself. 

He had been clutching the sheets without noticing. He released his hand and sat up, dangling his legs over the edge of the bed. His eyes scanned the room and he took a few shaky steps to better view the surroundings. A bulletin board with a calendar and pinned notes was near the door, with days circled and notes pinned all over. Faculty meeting, choir day, one that read "Dimitri - Horse", and a larger note that had "remember to emote" written, a smiling face drawn underneath. So, she knows she's got a problem, he thought. The desk was neat, almost spartan. The long set of cabinets were mostly empty on top, with weapons and armor arranged near her desk. Even the tea set was a bit plain.  
Two knocks from the door, up then down; he tensed at it, wondering how well he could use a sword with his left arm. Can't be hard, he thought, since he was used to the pull of a tower shield. He inched toward the pile. The door unlocked, cracked open by a boot, and then he saw the dark green hair and relaxed. His eyes followed her as he sat upon the cabinet tops, and she offered a slight smile. One arm held two plates of food, and the other held a basin of water. She shut the door behind her and latched it once she'd freed her arms.

"Good afternoon," she said. Her tone sounded annoyed; only slightly, but he could work with this. She set the basin next to him. "For the blood and dirt."

"What's got you ruffled?" He asked, sticking his fingertips in the water. 

"I've been thinking of plans," she replied. Pulling a rag from one of the drawers below him, she dunked it in the water and started to dab at him. He grabbed it. "I need more plans." 

"Is my execution slated?" He rubbed the cloth over his face. It was what he'd expected from the beginning, though he'd be able to take less of them with him now. 

"No. You're still a secret." She frowned. "Rhea was unmovable. The pulse — My ability..." Byleth trailed off, unable to explain.

Her meeting with Rhea had been directly after the lecture, as usual. It was an impromptu therapy session, if anything, with her encouraging the students to discuss how they felt. The biggest point of tension in the room was Sylvain, who emphasized Miklan's cruel nature while acting as careless as he could. It wasn't fooling any of them, but he knew that, and they knew that he knew, and it was a good barrier to questions and pity. She found it hard to look at him.   
Byleth could look at Rhea with no problem. They bowed at each other while Seteth remained upright, stern and expressionless. She liked Seteth; he was honest and forthcoming. While Dimitri might say that she should smile more, Seteth would tell her that her lack of expression was intimidating. 

While Rhea had summarized the night before, Byleth nodded along as she always did. A typical debriefing until Rhea's conviction shone through.

"His transformation into a Black Beast was nothing short of divine punishment from the goddess," Rhea said, eyebrows pulled back and mouth downturned, hands clasped together. "Punishment for someone arrogant and foolish enough to use a Hero's Relic even though they were unworthy and unqualified."

Byleth's mind stuttered in reply. Anger! She knew this one, had known it since that first bandit went after Edelgard. Her voice deepened as she spoke. "Punishment for the desperate."

"Excuse me?" Rhea straightened her head, looking at Byleth. Her own voice was icy, an unspoken command to stand down.

"It's cruelty!" Byleth replied, voice loud enough to be a battlefield order. "If it is punishment, it punishes those who are desperate, not unworthy. Are all those without a crest deserving of that fate, should they need to wield one?"

"Those relics are birthed from the goddess, bathed in blood - they should be used only in the direst of circumstances, not the earthly matters you are imagining." Rhea's hands had left each other, one held up towards Seteth to silence potential outburst. With her eyes leveled like this, it felt as though the goddess herself were real and piercing through Byleth using Rhea's gaze.

The sound of glass shattering sounded out, and a purple hue colored the world. Rhea, furious, and Seteth, scandalized, were frozen before her. Byleth took deep breaths, unsure of how to calm herself. "Do as you are," said Sothis. "You must breathe and distance yourself." Earthly matters! Was Miklan's beast an earthly matter? What if Dedue or Ashe were all that were left, forced into using her sword? "Perhaps she wishes they were never used." Then why say what she did? Byleth's thoughts had started to drain the anger from herself, and the scene reversed until Rhea was tranquil once again. There was a moment of pause.

"Professor?" asked Seteth.

"Does he truly deserve no mercy?" Byleth asked. "If he had not been killed by the lance, if he had survived the event, wouldn't it be significant?"

Rhea dipped her head in thought. "Yes. If his life were spared, it would certainly be through the will of the goddess."

"Would he be worthy of pardon? If the goddess so intervened..." Byleth replied.

"He would be worthy of pardon for the theft and use of a Heroes' Relic. But it would be unjust if he did not face punishment for his crimes. Do not forget that this use was the last of his crimes. He caused wanton slaughter for his own amusement, and their souls, as well as the survivors, would cry out for retribution." Rhea was hardly the same woman she had been moments earlier. As she spoke, her voice was compelling, and Byleth could understand the influence her voice wielded.

"What would the punishment be?" She asked, a suspicion already knotting in her chest.

"We would consult those villages he had terrorized. The verdict, likely, would be death."

"It would serve you better not to wrap yourself in hypotheticals," Seteth said. "You must carry yourself with confidence even in the aftermath of a mission like this."

Byleth nodded to him, and once again glass shattered, and the world was cloaked in purple. Now that she needed a plan B for Miklan, this conversation would only serve suspicion if he was spotted. After all, if anyone were to know of and believe in "miracles" like Miklan's return to the living, it would be the archbishop and her advisor. Time slowly ticked back...

"What'd you do to her?" Miklan asked, bringing Byleth back to awareness.

"Nothing," she replied. "I tried two different approaches and they failed. I don't think I could do more, given her conviction. I need a plan..." 

Byleth began muttering to herself about plans, as she took a plate and sat beside Miklan on the server. Today she wore pants, laced up the sides, and a hide vest over a casual tunic. Much different from the clothing he remembered.  
"Do you only break out the leggings for killing thieves?" He asked, giving a short laugh.

"Hm?" She looked down to her legs, then to him. "Yes. I want to avoid more lectures."

He grinned at her. "Should've known better when you started working for the church."

"But Manuela..." she trailed off, sighing. 

Miklan began to eat; horrible table manners, even forgetting at first to use the spoon she'd handed him. Byleth spooned her rice around, thinking, her eyes fixed on his hand. His movements were awkward, and his other arm would twitch, trying to help. 

"You've never seen a guy eat before?" He said, bringing her back to attention. A scowl was on his face. "If there's something you want to say, get it out."

"I'm going over plans. I didn't think..." She trailed off again, mouth moving into a frown of her own. "I need to help with your arm. To get you back to form."

"Don't. I can do it myself. Especially since I'll never be getting back to form."

"There are amputee mercenaries," she replied. Then the two sank into silence, eyes avoiding the other.

They ended their meal and he grabbed the rag once more. She reached to help after watching him struggle to clean the hand he had left; he pulled away sharply. 

"What's the plan?" He asked. It was strange, or maybe not, how much he sounded like Sylvain. 

"There's always the idea of throwing ourselves at her in hopes of mercy. I would—"

"Pass," he replied.

"You could be confined to one of the nearby villages. I will have to trust you not to turn back to banditry, and we would need to convince the villagers to abide by silence."

Laughter. "Could you trust me?" 

"We could appeal to your father or Dimitri."

The answer was a glare. She stared, expecting him to speak, but the seconds ticked by without a word.

"This is the riskiest," she said with a small groan. "You stay here, I monitor you, and when the semester is over and Rhea's supervision ends, we'll figure out where to go from there. Perhaps back to the mercenaries."

"'Stay here.' Except if that bitch sees me walking around, I lose my head." He said.

"No," she replied. "I mean here." She gestured around the room.

"Here." He sighed, shaking his head. "How long is 'here' for?"

She counted quickly on her fingers. "Six or seven months. You can probably stretch your legs at night."

"Six or seven..." He muttered to himself, then let out a miserable laugh. "I go from a noble, to a bastard, to a rat crawling in the walls." 

"I'm sorry," she said, frowning again. Sympathy was a feeling she'd become more familiar with.

"Sorry doesn't do anything. Keep up your end of this bargain."

Miklan woke up screaming again that night. He was still groggy when Byleth came to his side and pat his head. Once more, he shoved her hand away.


	3. A Case for Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a week and Flayn is missing. Miklan gets a break from the room, and there's talk about justice and punishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: kidnapping. It's just a mention of what happens in chapter 6, so you should be okay if you made it through there.
> 
> Hi, everyone! Thanks for the patience; things have been pretty hectic in Mugworld lately. From here on out I should have a more reliable weekly-ish schedule. 
> 
> I'm of the opinion that we shouldn't have had to skip the month for doing the logical thing and finding Flayn ASAP, so in this story we're gonna get those weeks back.

"Who's Flayn?"

  
Byleth had been out from her office more than Miklan expected. A teacher would spend, what, a third of the time in a lecture? He hadn't been allowed to go to the academy, but his father provided tutors for him and Sylvain, and even those people didn't spend so much time at it. She came in four times a day, always rushing, giving him an apology every time. Nobody had been so full of apologies to him except for his brother, maybe, and that stopped once he'd started hating him too. On the first Saturday of the new month, he'd finally managed to talk to her. Even her stiff speech was better than nothing at all.

  
"The sister of the archbishop's advisor," she answered. Her pen was in one hand while she ate at a hock with the other. "They're very close. Once I finish these, I can get back to investigating."

  
"Forgetting your house guest, huh?" Sat upon the cabinet, he picked at his food.

  
"I'm sorry," she replied. "This isn't typical, but I need to help how I can. I'll make time for you once she's found."

  
They were strange words to him. He brushed them off. "Is there a note?"

  
"None," she said. "No note and no signs of departure on her end. Belongings undisturbed."

  
"Hope you find her alive," he said, tapping his fingers on the cabinet. "If they're not after money or goods, it's gonna be something sick."

  
"I know." Her pen hand stilled. He could see the corners of her mouth sink and her eyes shut. Conjuring up the worst in her head, he figured. The pen dropped and the hock was promptly shoved at him. His hand grabbed it before he even thought about it; just as quickly, she'd slung the coat over her shoulders and started towards the door. "You can grade if you want. I'll be back tonight."

  
Her parting words before she'd slipped out, the sword at her side clanking against the door before it was pulled tight. Miklan stared for a few moments, moving the hock to his mouth to latch the door. For a mercenary, she was pretty soft to the colder parts of reality. Hadn't she seen things like that a million times by now?

  
When he woke during the night, she wasn't there.

* * *

That weekend was a flurry of activity. Absent at night and barely there for food, Byleth had practically turned into the guest instead of Miklan. On Sunday's morning — rather, almost afternoon — Byleth had swept in with a plate once again. Her eyes were drawn with red and dark circles were hung below them. Hair that was once pulled up had sagged down with stray hair poking out; the tie was barely hanging on. She set the plate on the cabinet.

  
"I found her. I found the culprit. I know where to go," she addressed him, but it came out as muttering. He'd been sat on the ground, making his way through one of her books. She pulled out her leggings from one of the cabinets and sighed softly, tossing them to the side.

  
"What?" He looked up. "Louder."

  
From the cabinet came a small scroll pouch. It was slung around her waist; without missing a beat, she picked through the armor, strapping it on as she was going. "I got it. I'm going to get her."  
"You're really going out when you're falling apart?"

  
"Don't worry," she said, looking at him with a nod. "Leave it to me."

  
And then she was gone again, locking the door behind her. People make stupid mistakes when they're exhausted. They get disoriented, can't judge timing as well, stumble, think slower. She had the luxury of time at her fingertips, but she was still charging in, like an idiot, driven by selflessness or charity or honor or _something_ like that. Despite knowing better, he believed her.

* * *

  
Byleth proved herself right. She came back triumphant with a meal and spoils of war, almost immediately dozing off in her chair. When he'd tried to wake her, she remained asleep; he supposed he'd have to start screaming again to even chance getting her awake. For the next day, they were almost back into their old routine. At Monday's night, she had left and returned shortly after. She threw a cloak around him and started fussing with the details: tucking his chin down, pulling the hood further, pulling the side around his bad arm...

  
"What now?" He asked, pulling away wherever she tried to fix.

  
"Stay quiet," she replied. "We're going to sneak."

  
Byleth peeked outside, then took his hand to bring him outside. He pulled away, trying to step back, but she was stronger than she looked. "Are you crazy? I'm not about to throw myself into being executed."

  
"I already did surveillance," she said. "No guards patrolling there and no students to stumble on us."

  
"Patrolling _where_?" He asked.

  
"The bath areas. Won't it be nice to get out?"

  
"Yeah. Except you know that my luck is shit."

  
His hand was grabbed again, and again he pulled away. "If we're caught, you can flee. We'll meet up later."

  
The suggestion surprised him. He found himself moving his feet forward. She really wasn't kidding with the trust she placed in him. The twisting of his stomach was more annoyance than anything else. You can't even trust family, let alone a bandit you've known for a week. Stupid and naive. She'd get herself killed sooner or later and his protection would die along with her.

  
He didn't say a word as they traveled and neither did she. Like he always did, he dwelled on that anger boiling within him. His attention didn't return until they had passed the baths' entryway. He looked around. Tile and wood, all well-worn, little bits of graffiti carved here and there. Sometimes a heart, sometimes initials; who knew how many thousands of students had passed through here since it was first built? Byleth stood to the side of one of the smaller rooms inside, waving him past her. He shook the cloak off; he'd never enjoyed them.

  
"Going to monitor me?" He asked, smirking.

  
"No," she replied. She turned her back to him and sat, facing towards the exit. "Don't worry."

  
Another one of those. He rolled his eyes.

  
For a while, they sat in silence. He scrubbed away the leftover dirt and blood. His attempts were frustrated as times, too used to having both hands available. The stump of his arm was still sensitive despite the magical healing. It flinched at every touch from the rag he used.

  
"Why save the girl?" He asked, still lonely — no, _bored_, he corrected himself.

  
"Because it was right. She didn't deserve to be captured." She answered.

  
He let out a bark of a laugh. "Does anyone deserve anything to you?"

  
"Yes," she said. "Tyrants, murderers, bandits, and thieves. Those who exploit the weak and those who abuse."

  
"Oh, I guess I'm an exception?" Another laugh.

  
"No," she replied. Her head turned slightly. "But you didn't deserve that transformation. I could hear your anguish."

  
He scoffed. "Forget you did."

  
"I can't. It's the first time I felt horror."

  
They drifted back into silence. He dunked his head to clean the debris from his head, and this time she spoke first.

  
"Isn't it better to attack the source? What makes people turn to evil?"

  
"Sure," he said. "How're you going to do that?"

  
Her voice picked up in vibrancy as she spoke. "Begin with crimes of circumstance. Those who steal for survival should receive support — to not need to steal. Help from their neighbors. Community. Then they can reimburse the victim. People who are violent... Why are they? Why do the tyrants seek power? Maybe they can find fulfillment."

  
Her thoughts ended, and her eyes turned to look more in his direction. He broke into laughter. The noise echoed throughout, bouncing on the walls. The eyes that tried to peer at him jerked in the other direction, and her head turned away. Wiping tears from his eyes, his voice cracked as it tried to calm the residual laughter.

  
"Community help. Rehabilitating killers and tyrants. How do you grow up as a mercenary and end up so damn sheltered?" His voice was more instructive than bitter. "If you can't count on family to support you, why expect it from your neighbors?"

  
"Because they choose you." If he didn't know how bland she was, he might've thought she was hurt. She continued. "Your band fought with you until your transformation. Didn't you trust each other?"

He waved his hand. "That's different. We were all working for ourselves."

  
"Were you?" She asked. "They could have left once we'd reached the north corridor."

  
"They're not going to care about me," he said. "They're not going to remember me."

  
"That isn't an answer." She paused, then continued. "You've been treated with cruelty. But that's not common."

  
"And common is all that shit - love, kindness, charity? All you've seen is some little slice of the world. What about that kidnapper? Are you gonna get him to rehabilitate?"

  
"It would be difficult. I can't hide any more people away, and I would be overruled." Her head dipped and her voice hushed. "Is it really that ridiculous?"

  
"Yeah, it is," he said. "You better harden that heart of yours up, or your world is going to crumble."

  
Left unsaid was that _his_ world would end up crumbling right alongside hers. Once she started to understand that everyone was a snake under the surface, the snake with the rottenest heart would be the first and rightful purge. No hard feelings, he'd do the same. But for now, it was in both of their best interests to keep her grounded. Eventually, she could grow shrewd and guarded, and he'd be too useful to fall to the blade. There was something funny to him hoping he was the exception for a future cynic; he didn't mention it and she didn't speak again until they were leaving.

  
Under the cover of night, they returned to the room. She only tried to grab him once, dissuaded once he'd pulled away. He didn't have that same kind of joy he usually had when he pulled the wool from someone's eyes.   
The only time he woke up, he stared over towards her. The lamp was running low on fuel, but he could see her fingers twitching and the sole of her boot swiveling. She moved from her dreams just like a dog would, he thought. And here was the beast guiding her lead.


End file.
